


The Almighty, The Witch, and Eternity

by ProjectPython



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Afterlife, Ethereal Lesbians, F/F, good omens - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-12
Updated: 2020-01-16
Packaged: 2020-12-14 00:08:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21006440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProjectPython/pseuds/ProjectPython
Summary: After Agnes Nutter died, she wasn’t sure what to expect in the afterlife. The last thing she expected was to be greeted by God, and she defiantly didn’t expect special treatment from the Almighty. But soon she finds herself missing the Lord’s company when She’s gone, and wondering if maybe there’s something more than friendly affection to their relationship.





	1. Afterlyfe

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by my amazing friends who run the twitter accounts AgnesNutter1600 and LordUpstairs. I would highly suggest you check them out!

1656 AD

Agnes Nutter hardly felt the explosion, nor did she hear more than half a second of it before it ripped her apart from the legs up, tearing through her skin like lightning across a stormy sky. One moment she was standing atop a heap of wood, her old neighbours and friends gathered around her with torches raised high and eyes hungry for a show, and the next she was standing in front of a cottage on the edge of a forest, teetering on her heels like there had been a strong wind that caught her off guard.

She blinked in the bright, cloudless sunlight and took a moment to steady herself. The heat from the flames was gone. Her skirt was light, and no longer burdened by the gunpowder and roofing nails that had set off the explosion. She took a breath.

“You don’t actually need to do that here,” said a voice. It was female, and a strange mixture of soft and firm. Comforting wasn’t a good word for it. It sent tingles down her spine and made her chest tighten. Agnes turned toward the voice, and straightened herself up a little.

“Ye art tardy,” said the Almighty. “You should’ve been here ten minutes since.”

Agnes blinked at Her. She wasn’t sure what she had expected God to look like. Maybe it was the image driven by all the churches: the old, bearded man atop a throne in the clouds, looking down at His children. Maybe it was a woman, something Agnes had always toyed with the idea of. She gave Her different faces in her head, trying to pinpoint exactly what she might expect in the afterlife. Of course, she had never thought that the Almighty would come down to greet her. An angel, maybe, but nothing more. Not for Agnes Nutter.

But here She was, in all Her glory, standing on the little pathway up to the cottage, right beside the vegetable patch. Agnes couldn’t quite make out Her features. Her skin seemed to be constantly moving, shifting between tones and shapes, her hair changing colours and textures... it was as if She was every woman that ever had been and ever would be all at once. Looking at Her would probably have made Agnes’s eyes hurt, had she been alive.

“Welle,” Agnes said. “I did notte expectye to see thee here.”

“And who DID you expect, Agnes?”

The witch thought for a moment, staring up into the sky. Finally, she looked back down at God. “An angele, mayhaps,” she said. “I ne’er sawe this far, truth be tolde.”

The Almighty smiled a thousand smiles. “And? How do you like it?”

Agnes looked around herself again, at the cottage, the thatched roof, the swirl of smoke from the chimney that grasped for the sky. 

“This ist note my home,” she said. 

“Not your last one, no,” God said, “but you were happy here. Do you remember?”

Agnes tightened her lips. “I do remembere,” she said. “Bute that wasse another tyme. This ist not mine home anymore.”

Though she couldn’t read Her expression, the air around Her seemed to shift ever so slightly. 

The scenery changed in a fraction of a second. There was no pop, no flash of bright light; one second they were standing by the little cottage on the edge of the woods, and the next second they were in her old little two-room house, the sticks she had hung up outside clattering together in a slight breeze. The Almighty looked at her expectantly. 

“Yes,” Agnes nodded curtly. “This wille do.”

She walked over to her cluttered little table and examined the papers. “Everythinge ist the sayme,” she said softly. “‘Tis like I ne’er left.”

The Almighty, unnoticed by Agnes, raised a hand for a fraction of a second before bringing it down, as if She wanted to put a hand on Agnes’s shoulder.

“Can I ask something, Agnes?” She said. The witch looked over her shoulder.

“Yes, lorde.”

“Why do you want to be here of all places? The town where... well, the town where you died. I find that humans, especially those who have been murdered, don’t like to go back to the place where it happened.”

Agnes smiled sadly. “I wasse at home here,” she said, her fingers running delicately along the pile of loose parchment on the table. “Depite ev’rythinge. I loved them. Alle of them. Olde Goody Larmour. Mr. Philips. Maggs. Even Adultery Pulsifer.”

God sighed internally. She would never really understand humans. Especially not this one.

“Lord? Oh, good. You’re here.” It was Gabriel, who had just materialized in the middle of the room. “I wasn’t exactly sure where you had gone. We need you. Back upstairs. Pronto.” 

Agnes, though she didn’t show it in the slightest, was a little bit startled by his studded materialization. A little more surprising to her, though, was his appearance. The Archangel Gabriel always chose his clothes with attention to the current time period on earth. He liked to make sure he would blend in, in case he had to take a quick trip to the surface, while still remaining stylish. His clothes were nice, proper, and in the correct style, the only thing being that they were entirely white, all the way from his hat to his boots. The Almighty would have to have a word with him about the colours of human clothes. And maybe about the hair as well. That length on him was a bit frightening. 

Agnes regarded him with cold eyes. “Ye art an angele,” she said. “The angele toppe, if I’m note mistaken.”

Gabriel raised his eyebrows. “Yep,” he said. “You hit the nail on the head, actually. 100% correct. Gabriel.” he stuck out his hand. “And you are...?”

“Agnes Nutter,” she said, accepting the shake. “Witch.”

“Right,” Gabriel gave her a tight smile, then turned to God. “She’s new?”

“I am,” Agnes said sharply.

“Not talking to you,” Gabriel said, and gave her a little pat on the shoulder. “Lord, there’s some paperwork upstairs for you. Urgent. Needs to be done in the next century or so. Better get it done now. I’ll take care of her. Does she have a file?”

“Don’t worry about it, Gabriel,” said God. “I’m almost done here.” She turned to Agnes. “I have to go. I’m sorry. If you need anything, anything at all, just call. Welcome to paradise, Agnes. Enjoy yourself.” And then She vanished. Gabriel stared at the spot she once stood for a few seconds.

“Do you have any idea why She was here?” He asked. “Because She never visits departed souls. Never. Not since Adam and Eve.I hardly even see Her in the halls up there. Usually just locks herself in Her office and watches the humans.”

“I haven’t anye idea,” Agnes said. “The lorde workes in mysterious wayes.”

“I know that better than anyone,” Gabriel said, rolling his eyes. He paused for a moment, as if catching up with his train of thought, then clapped his hands sharply. “Do you have any questions? This must be a little weird for you. The whole dying thing. The afterlife.”

“Note as suche,” Agnes said. “It woulde be best for you to get backe to work.”

Gabriel frowned at her. “Really? No questions at all?”

“None.”

“I’ll be going, then! Just... holler if you need anything. For me. Or another angel. Not for God. I know She said that you could, but honestly... She’s busy enough as it is. And there hasn’t been one human in the history of Earth who’s managed to make friends with Her. So don’t count on it.”

“Ryte,” Agenes said. “I was notte counting on ite.”

“Good!” Gabriel smiled. “Well. Enjoy eternity.”

And he vanished as quickly as he had appeared.


	2. Why me?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a few years (which isn’t a long time, in heaven), the Almighty decides to visit Agnes. Agnes, however, has had time to think since she arrived, and isn’t quite happy with the hand she was dealt, and she wants answers.

1660 AD

The soil in heaven, Agnes noticed, felt almost exactly like the soil on earth. Sometimes, however, when she dragged her fingers through it, it would slide through them, as if turning to liquid for a few moments. Odd, she thought, but nothing too unexpected. How many souls there must be up here, she couldn’t imagine, and how must work it must be to maintain all those soul’s worlds must be extremely difficult. 

She hadn’t seen another soul since she had arrived. How long had passed, exactly, she had no idea, but it had been enough time for more than three harvests and over five snowfalls. She had stopped counting at one point. Time seemed to move differently here, the years too short to be years, night coming only when she grew tired of day. She never got lonely, however. She didn’t miss the townspeople, their ailments, their demands, their judgement. What she missed was the work. Now, the only things she had to occupy herself was he gardening and a few repairs around the house. 

Every day was the same. Agnes got up early, when the birds, her only company other than the occasional rabbit or deer, woke her with their gentle chirping. She made breakfast, which was usually porridge or toast, and then watered the garden. She refilled the birdbath and made sure the house was tidy. Then she jogged. The village was empty. Nobody stared at her from their windows. Nobody shouted rude names as she ran past. It was almost too peaceful. 

When she got home, she did the weeding. Trimmed the grass in front of her house, which required her to get onto her knees with a pair of shears and cut each individual blade. Nobody had understood why she cut her lawn back on Earth. She just thought it looked nice.

Then, she went in and did the laundry. It didn’t matter if there wasn’t any to do, up in heaven. The basket was always piled high with clothes. Unlike most women, she enjoyed it. It kept her hands busy, and her mind was free to wander wherever it wanted. This usually went on for around three Earth hours, but for her it was much longer. The basket seemed to never run out. It was just how she liked it.

It was while she was doing the laundry on a sunny day in 1660 that she saw the woman standing outside her window, beside the carrot patch. She wasn’t surprised. Not really. At one point, she knew, SOMEONE had to show up. It’s just that she was expecting someone she had known on Earth. The woman outside made eye contact with Agnes, then smiled. Agnes got to her feet, dusted off her dress, and walked out the door. 

“Goode daye, my Lorde,” Agnes said, giving a small curtsey. The woman nodded curtly, the smile still lingering on Her lips. 

She looked to be around sixty, with deep blue eyes that seemed to light up Her face, and smile lines that framed the gentle upward curve of Her lips. Her hair was curly, almost like waves, Agnes thought, with white tips and dark roots. She wore a simple white robe, and Her hands were folded at her waist. Agnes didn’t need Her to introduce Herself. Somehow, Her presence itself announced Her identity, demanded obedience and fear.

But Agnes wasn’t afraid. She glanced at the Almighty, nodded back, picked up her gardening basket from beside the door, and walked past Her and into the garden. The Lord stared at her as she got down on her knees and began examining the ground for sprouting weeds.

“Nice to see you too, Agnes,” said God. She pursed her lips. 

Agnes didn’t respond.

“Agnes Nutter, I’ve come all this way to see you. Can’t I at least get some sort of acconagment?”

Agnes glanced up. “I ne’er expectede to see thee down here,” she said, and then returned to her weeding.

“I’ve come to see how you’re fitting in,” said God. “Is everything to your liking?”

“I suppose,” Agnes said. She kept her eyes trained on the soil. 

The Lord sighed. “Agnes... tell me what’s wrong.”

“Nothinge is wrong.”

“Then why are you acting like a child?” 

The witch took a slow breath. “I’ve been thinking,” she said. “Aboute my death, and aboute how you didn’t save me.”

“Agnes...”

“Prehaps we should go indoors,” Agnes said, getting to her feet and brushing off her skirt. “To talke.”

“If that’s what you want,” the Almighty said. But Her smile faltered as She walked through the doorway behind Agnes, and Her hands clutched nervously at Her robes. God had never felt fear like this before, not in a long, long time. She couldn’t explain it to Herself. Not really. Something about the hardness in Agnes’s eyes, the tightness of her expression, made Her quiver ever so slightly. If She had a heart, it would be pounding. Was Agnes upset at Her?

The witch pulled up a chair for God and waited with arms crossed tightly for Her to sit. There was a silence so long and dreadful that the Almighty nearly discorporated before Agnes sat down as well. She drew in a breath. 

“I understande that thou cans’t not be goode to all of thine children,” she started, “bute I muste know... why me?”

“What do you mean, Agnes?”

“Why note another witch? Why did thou chose Agnes Nutter?”

The Almighty held her breath for a moment. 

“It’s going to sound a bit... silly.” She said, a little nervously. Agnes felt a twinge of worry. She had never seen Her nervous before. No. No, she mustn’t feel anything but anger. That was what this was about, right? It was a confrontation, not some sort of... heart-to-heart.

“My Lorde,” Agnes said, “I have seen a lote in my dayye, and heard juste as much. And now, I am lookinge upon the face of Gode. Nothinge thou canst shall seem ‘silly’ to me.”

“I’ve been watching you for a long time, Agnes,” said God. “A very long time. Since you were a girl, in fact. You interest me, is all. You have a spirit that none of the others had. A determination, stubbornness. I knew that I could trust you to do what needed to be done. All I had to do was give you the right tools to do it.”

Agnes paused. “And ye ne’er thought what harme it might bring unto me?”

“Harm?”

“Thou art truly daft, aren’t ye?”

The Almighty was taken aback. “Daft?”

“Yes!” she cried. “Daft! Thou hast no idea whate thine children experience on Earthe! What thou hast given them! It muste be very nice, watchinge from heaven, bute we have lives, and we love, and we die, and somehowe we still muste find a way to love the woman who put us all throughe it.”

“... but those are all gifts. Love, death, life. Those are my gift to you. I can never experience them. All I can do is watch.”

“Oh, don’t make me pitye thee,” Agnes snapped. “Thou art a cruel mistress. Thou canst have whatever ye want, but somethinge inside of thine infinate minde tells ye that thou shan’t have it, that ye don’t deserve it. Love is for beings with compassione, with kindness. Ye know nothing of these thinges.”

“Well, that’s rather harsh-”

“If thou are note going to explain thine self in a waye that is satisfactory, then thou mayst leave, and ne’er return. Thou art unwelcome here.”

God couldn’t find the right words to respond. Her eyes were trained down on her hands, which were clasped tightly together. She glanced up at Agnes for but a moment, and flinched at her livid expression.

“If that’s what you really want,” She said, “the that’s what you’ll get. I’m sorry you see me that way. It’s not my intention to come off as... well... that. Before I go, is there anything more you’d like? Anything that would make you happier?”

“People,” Agnes said. “People to talke to. I am sicke of the silence.”

“Really? I thought you’d like it.”

“Welle, I do note.”

“Then people you will have. Anyone in particular?”

“Suprise me.” her face was emotionless.

“As you wish,” God stood up, and then looked Agnes in the eye. “I’m very sorry. I never meant to cause you pain. You helped a great many people, Agnes, and for that you’re being rewarded. You have an eternity of happiness. At least try to enjoy it?”

And with that, She vanished.


	3. The Office

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabriel visits the Almighty in Her office to discuss some heavenly business, and notices something wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short chapter this time! I’m trying to release more as I write them, but I might be a tad bit busy due to exams. I’m also working on an Ineffable Bureaucracy fic, but I’ll TRY to balance my time between them and this and the falling fic and the Agent Carter one. I’ve just got a lot on my plate. Hope it doesn’t show in my writing.

1787 AD

Gabriel knocked tentatively on the Almighty’s door, clutching an armful of scrolls in his hand. This was before the invention of folders, and so heaven’s vaults were full of boxes upon boxes of the tightly wound parchment. They were unlabeled, and a nightmare to sort through. It had taken Gabriel a few centuries to find these ones.

“Lord?” he asked, after a few moments of silence. “It’s me. Your favori- I mean, it’s Gabriel. Are you in there?”

“Can it wait?” She said, her voice muffled by the wood.

“Not really,” Gabriel looked down at the scrolls in his hands. “We’ve got about seventy souls waiting judgment. The council can’t really make up their minds on these ones. They’ve been in purgatory for awhile now, and the folks down there are getting sort of sick of them. I was wondering if you could take a look?”

There was a second of silence. “I’m a bit preoccupied.”

“Right,” he said, and stared blankly at the door for a moment. “It’s just that Uriel’s sort of been bothering me about it, and Michael’s getting sick of them, and I kind of want to take a trip down to Earth but I can’t until this is done, and-”

The door swung open, and Gariel flinded. Not at the suddenness, mind, but at the state of the Almighty, who stood on the other side. 

For a start, She had a vessel. A solid, unchanging form. Her hair was long, untidy, and the bags under Her eyes were alarmingly big. Her robes were askew, and Her grip on the doorframe was strong; so strong that the wood crackled slightly under Her fingers.

As soon as She laid eyes on Gabriel, however, She seemed to snap out of whatever daze She had formerly been in. In the blink of an eye, She looked just as composed as one would expect a deity to be, but still in Her unshifting vessel. She cleared her throat.

“I don’t believe that the council really needs my help on those decisions,” She said. “I mean really. I’m God. I have other things to do. Why don’t you take care of them?”

Gabriel blinked, still a bit shocked by the sudden transformation. “Uh. Well, they’re all a little complicated. Whether they’ve been good or bad is highly debatable, and since you’re the ‘mother of man’ or whatever, I thought you would be better at deciding...?”

“Mother of man, woman, and otherwise,” God said, snatching a scroll from Gabriel’s hands. She opened it up and looked it over, then handed it back. “Eve is the mother. I am the creator. There’s a difference. Tell the council that they can make their own decisions. I’m not here to humor their inability to do their jobs. Honestly, Gabriel, you should know better than to bother me with stuff like this. If Raphael were here, I’d-” She stopped, bit her lip, took a breath, and started over. “My point is that I’m very busy. I have better things to do. Go do your job, and let me do mine.”

The door was slammed in his face. He frowned. That was odd.

Inside, the Almighty ran back to Her pool. She adored Her pool. It was just a little puddle of water, but it gave Her something to do when heaven was getting dull, and it allowed Her to watch over Her creations. But today, as She sat on Her little stool beside it, She didn’t summon up visions of Earth. She instead looked into heaven, into a little cottage, and at a woman, who was doing laundry. A woman who was upset at Her. She wanted nothing more than to go down to her, to apologise, to make it up to Agnes somehow, but she had said to never come back, and, for the first time, the Lord was afraid of what might happen if she ignored this. And so She sat, and She watched, and, for a reason she couldn’t quite pin down, She longed.


	4. William

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Agnes meets a new but rather familiar man while taking care of some ‘gifts’ that she’s been receiving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short one! I think I’m going to have each chapter around this length. It’ll be easier to come out with new ones sooner, and easier to read.

1789

The flowers started arriving just a few months after the Lord had last visited. Though they had no kind of card or any way to tell who they were from, Agnes knew exactly who had sent them. They would have looked nice on her windowsill. Perhaps she might have put them there, under different circumstances, but instead, her compost became a flourishing display of blossoms, and looked more like a flower booth. The bouquets never rotted, of course. They weren’t meant to. Instead, they simply piled up until the pit was full, at which point she dug another and started from square one.

It was this addition to her yard that drew the attention of one of her new neighbors, a man seemingly in his early fifties, his thin but richly brown hair balding just near the top. As she tossed the latest floral arrangement into the compost, he watched in amusement, leaning against the fence, his rather dramatic and fine attire sticking out against the rural backdrop.

“‘Tis a bit extensive, dost thou thinkest?” he said, peering down at the small ocean of colourful petals. 

Agnes sighed deeply, and nodded. “Aye. I know notte why she tryes. I have made myselfe very clear. I wante nothing to do withe her.”

The stranger raised his eyebrows. “A woman, then, is it?”

“That is the forme she choses to take.”

“A demoness?”

“One mighte argue that.”

He glanced back at the hole. “Perhaps thou shouldst give her a chance. She seems very... dedicated.”

Agnes shook her head. “I wish note to humor her. ‘Twould be a grave mistake on mye behalf.” she looked over to him, and stuck out her hand. “Agnes Nutter. And thou art...?”

“William Shakespeare,” he responded, giving her hand a curt shake. “The prophet, correct?”

“Thou knowest of me?”

“Naturally. Every self-respecting gentlemane does. I hast heard that God hath granted thee with the gifte of True Sight. Thine fortunes are legendary, my lady.”

She was slightly taken aback. “Thank thee. Truly. I, too, hath heard of you, the great bard, however I ne’er found it in my time to reade your works.”

“Not a problem, Mistress Nutter. There is always time. An eternitye of it, now.”

“Aye,” Agnes sighed, glareing back at the pit. “An eternitye.”

Shakespeare followed her eyes. “I canst help with them, If thou wouldst like. Hast thou learnt howe to preforme miracles as of yet?”

“A what?”

He laughed. “Evidently notte. Allow me.” 

And, with a snap of his fingers, the flowers in the new pit were gone. Agnes looked at him with amazement. 

“Welle. Thank thee, goode sir.”

“‘‘Twas nothing, dear lady. And... call me William.”

“Perhaps thou might lyke to talke aboute this woman?”

“I suppose that I shall have to, eventuallye. It mighte as well be to thee.” She hiked up her skirts and strode out of the garden. “Come along, then. We have muche to discuss.”


End file.
